


The Relativity of a Happy Ending

by Lillian



Series: April verse [3]
Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: Bisexuality, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-30
Updated: 2010-04-30
Packaged: 2017-10-09 05:44:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/83663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lillian/pseuds/Lillian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The best reward they could have hoped for...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Relativity of a Happy Ending

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own the characters and I'm making no money of their use.

_All tragedies are finished by a death, all comedies by a marriage._

Lord Byron

Arthur needs to look at Merlin from an inch's distance, so close that Merlin fills his whole vision, so close as only he's allowed to come. From here, Arthur can see the truth about Merlin. Merlin, who appears smooth, milky white to everyone else, is made out of freckles, of multitudes of tiny imperfections, and with each kiss Arthur caresses dozens of them, whole constellations worshipped under his lips.

He thinks this is the only way he can manage to not fall apart in Merlin's presence, to take him in piece by piece, until he's not so overwhelmed, rendered helpless by the whole of him.

~ ~ ~

Sometimes Merlin tells Arthur he loves him, sighs the words into Arthur's neck or shoulder, chokes them into the pillow or with his face turned to the side, never while looking into Arthur's eyes. Always when Arthur's moving inside him, on the gentler nights, when it can be heard over the noises of flesh sliding against flesh, the pants and grunts and the far more profane endearments that usually accompany their coupling.

Men say stupid things in such situations, Arthur knows, things they don't mean. It would be pointless to mention this to Merlin, ask him to stop when it matters so little.

Of course, Arthur never says it back, nor cares to hear it. And yet, when Merlin's not said it for a while Arthur grows inexplicably restless, that much more rough, as if he can force the words out of Merlin with his body alone.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Arthur's marriage is a series of reminders and warnings and self-revelations, never recognised for what they are at the time.

Glass is imported for the wedding, and Merlin breaks a goblet, clumsy as ever. The wound closes without a trace and there isn't that much blood even, easily cleaned away by servants far more efficient than Merlin could ever have hoped to be.

The chamber door closes behind Arthur and his new wife - a final click. Guinevere takes his hand, presses it to her lips with such reverence and intense pride, eyes shining, and this, this is why he asked her, he wants that look directed at him for the rest of his life.

He gets wounded at Guinnion. He comes to only once, in a bleary painful world. Gwen is crying, palm on his brow so light he barely feels it. Merlin is standing to the side, arms loose by his sides, fingers twitching a little from time to time. Arthur has enough time to think the idiot's finally learned propriety before he goes under again.

Arthur doesn't need to think about Merlin to lie with his wife, doesn't think about Merlin at all when he's with her. Ever so often he wakes during the night, not knowing where he is, except that this is the wrong bed, and then he remembers and the smell of his skin is too strong, stale lust and sweat, and he wonders how Gwen can stand to sleep near him.

Merlin explains to Arthur rationally, mostly calmly, why marrying Morgana had been without a doubt the best decision for the kingdom while wearing the imprint of her teeth on his throat, jagged and already bruising, a mark of ownership proudly displayed for anyone who cares to look. Somehow, Arthur is not inclined to believe Merlin got that mark with only the good of Albion in mind.

 

~ ~ ~

 

By the end the Camlann battle is not so much a battle as it is a mess, lone pairs of knights fighting a long way from each other, any attempt of discipline long since abandoned. Arthur is dead on his feet and half-blind with the sweat running into his eyes and Mordred is ten years younger, rested and ready, bright enough to have made sure this is his first duel.

It should have been a really short fight, the outcome obvious, but then Arthur stumbles and Caliburn's tip, which would have otherwise skidded harmlessly against Mordred's armour, pulls in and up under Mordred's hauberk to cut clean through the vein at the top of his thigh.

Mordred stumbles, clutching his leg, blood flowing freely to the ground. He falls to one knee first, then to his hip, his lips forming an incantation to close the wound. Arthur hacks him in the teeth; Mordred rolls on his back, finished, watching Arthur with feverish, malicious eyes as the life leeches out of him frighteningly fast. To the end of his days Arthur wouldn't know why he hadn't just finished him off quickly. Maybe by then he was incapable of mercy.

"Morgana," Mordred slurs. "What have you done to her?"

Arthur would have told him she's safe and sound in Camelot, trying to wake Merlin up from enchanted sleep, but there's no time. Mordred dies and Arthur watches the ground come closer, detached, until he's seated next to the body. In death, Mordred's face looks terribly young and infinitely surprised, as if until his very last moment he'd been expecting Morgana to turn up and save him. A vain hope once he had gone after Merlin, but Arthur supposes you couldn't expect a jilted lover to know better.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Merlin is awake when Arthur comes back and they stand together on their usual spot at the north wall, watching the village and beyond, the fields with peasants working, barely touched by the outcome of a war in which they'd taken no part. Morgana is in her chambers, mourning or maybe just catching up on her rest, Arthur doesn't know.

"You know what I see when I look at it?" Merlin asks, moving one long-fingered hand in a graceful arc to indicate the houses, fields, forest. People. "I see it was worth the effort. The best reward I could have hoped for." His smile is a small, pleased one mirrored perfectly in his eyes, and Arthur can only nod, not trusting himself to speak for fear of what will come out of his mouth.

"I'd better go back, Morgana has nightmares if I'm not there while she sleeps." Merlin heads back with a single pat to Arthur's shoulder, a gesture he learned from Arthur years ago, and Arthur thinks _I'd just wager she does_ and stays there, hand on the pommel of his sword, surveying his kingdom.

It's not like he has anywhere better to be.


End file.
